Introit
The word becomes flesh
head first
from the canal—
introitus from the Latin—
slick with the body’s
sacred waters, vernix
caseosa, down
on head and shoulders
if it’s early,
slips into hands,
gloved in white,
or into water warm
as the womb.
The cord is cut; sex
revealed, revered,
disdained. Girl, at birth.
Kyrie Eleison
(Into the pink
the word goes,
the ribbons,
the bows.)
Lord have mercy
upon her. Lord
have mercy
upon her.
Unseen
the pathway
she’s set on.
Rigid as
a cross
to die upon.
Lord have mercy
upon us.
Dies Irae:
Day of wrath,
silence,
weeping.
Confutatis
A girl is born;
the child dies.
Lacrymosa
Weep for the child lost to the word. Weep
for pink hairbands on bald infant heads.
Weep for the boyhood forbidden to dance,
to make up his face and do his hair. Weep
for the words bound by pink and blue: tomboy,
sissy, faggot, dyke. Weep for the ones both this
and that who fight to survive as they and them.
Weep for the ones not allowed to play, barred
from help, from health, from life. Weep
for the word that cuts like a knife.
Weep, weep, weep for the loss and the hurt.
Subhaga Crystal Bacon is a Queer poet living in rural northcentral Washington on unceded Methow land. Their latest book, Transitory, is the recipient of the Isabella Gardner Award for Poetry, from BOA Editions, and was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award. Subhaga is a teaching artist working in schools and libraries as well as with private students. Their work appears or is forthcoming in a variety of journals including Diode, the Bellevue Literary Review, Indianapolis Review, Rise Up Review, Ghost City Review. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing: Poetry, from the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers.
